The fallout from the painful meeting at the Liberty Diner was harsh for Brian. The phone calls did stop. The attempts to see Brian did stop. But it was a bittersweet victory, as they all knew it would be. Telling Brian even a portion of what had been said was difficult, both for him and Justin. But Justin wouldn't compromise Brian's dignity by withholding the truth. He deserved at least that. They had gone through too fucking much, had come too far to jeopardize it with lies of omission. And the truths he heard from Justin, the reactions of Michael and Deb and Lindsey agonized him. But the threats of withholding his son... that rift, he knew, would never be mended. The betrayal of his two best friends - Michael's callous disregard for Brian's privacy and Lindsey's heartless manipulations of his feelings for his son - cut through him to the marrow.   

But the days passed with a steady focus on therapy and remembering and processing betrayals of every kind. With each new revelation of the weeks he had been tortured, Brian's pain was palpable. At times he gave up the fight to remain Just Brian Kinney and Justin learned to live temporarily with Trick or Sonny or Mac. Never Little Boy. That one was a special case, protected by the others even more ferociously than Brian had been and only seen during the most intensive therapy sessions. Little Boy lived in a loop of time consisting of a two week period, held in a heartbreaking repeat of torture from which he couldn't escape.

On the good days, the days when Brian was simply Brian, Justin would often hear him talking quietly to himself, or laughing at some unspoken joke, or closing his eyes as if in prayer. And Justin knew they were talking among themselves, bonding on a different, familiarizing level. Getting to know each other. Justin had come to respect and like the distinct personalities for their uniqueness. They were, after all, Brian. Parts of him, anyway. The scattered pieces of that Chinese tangram, finally fitting together and making the puzzle whole.

"Justin." Brian had been at the computer, intently searching for new information on DID. "Come here, I want to show you something."

"Nine and a half inches, cut? I've seen it." Justin teased.

"You've more than seen it, baby. You've sucked it." Brian rolled the chair over to his partner and gave him a passionate kiss. As Justin let out a soft moan and reached for his partner's cock, Brian pulled back. "Fucking after. Looking now."

With an exaggerated sigh, Justin followed Brian back to the computer. "Okay, what are we finding out today, old man?"

"Fuck you, Sunshine!"

"Make up your mind, Brian. To fuck or not to fuck." Brian slapped his lover's abundant ass.

"Seriously," Brian said and pulled Justin onto his lap. "I think I've found something."

Justin began to read the page on the screen and his eyes grew wide. He cocked his head and grinned at the beautiful, happy man holding him. "Are you serious? You're thinking about doing this?"

"Thinking about it." Brian's face grew serious as he pulled Justin more tightly to him. "I don't think I want to lose them, baby. They've...saved me."

Justin studied the article more closely. Living in cooperation with one's alters rather than integrating them. Jesus... Could Brian do that? Live the rest of his life with the alters? Could Justin do it?

"Alice and I have been talking about integration. What it means to me, to the others. It would essentially... kill them off, Jus. They would just fucking disappear. How can I do that? They... Christ! They kept me alive, Justin! They kept me sane all those years. They allowed me to live and I can't take their lives now. Not after that. I know it sounds crazy to talk about them like they are entirely different people, but I guess to me they are. I talk with them, laugh with them, cry... I just can't..."

"Brian, you don't have to convince me. This is your choice - your fucking life. And I owe them a shit load of gratitude, too, you know." He rested his forehead on Brian's. "I'm here with you, regardless of your decision, Brian. I'm here."

*******

Connie Simpson had indeed bailed himself out of jail as soon as possible. It took a couple of days for that to happen, thanks to some creative paperwork on Carl's behalf, and a few incidental charges laid over the original assault charge. He had contacted the corporate attorneys, essentially bringing his personal life into the company. To say that his father and daughter were displeased would be the most absurd kind of understatement.

And, Connie thought, it was all Brian Kinney's fault. Every fucking bit of it. He remained in Pittsburgh, seeking another opportunity to confront, and deal with, the little bitch. On the third day after his release, he sat outside Brian's Tremont loft. Waiting. He knew the risks. Out on bail, essentially stalking his ‘victim'. He laughed to himself at the word. Brian Kinney was no victim. He was goddamned property. Connie fucking owned him. He was a king and he owned Brian Kinney, and he would damn well have him.

As he sat in his car in front of the dry cleaner across the street, he watched carefully as Justin and Brian walked out of the building and got into the vintage Corvette. He knew the exact time they would appear. He knew the routine. It had been the same for the last two days. As he turned on the ignition of the car, intent on pulling out of the parking spot to follow the pair, a black sedan pulled in front of him. Cursing, he attempted to back out of the space. A white sedan pulled in tightly behind him. As he saw the uniformed man pulling himself out of the second sedan, he knew what was about to happen.

Fuck.

*******

Charles Orwin sat in his tenth floor office looking over the registered letter his paralegal had just handed him. A letter with a Canadian postal endorsement. As he opened the flap on the envelope and unfolded the single sheet of paper, two names - Melanie Marcus and Lindsey Peterson - jumped out at him in bold typeface. The couple had apparently petitioned the Crown for a peace bond to keep Brian and Justin away from Gus, and he was holding in his hand a courtesy copy of a motion commanding the appearance of both men at a hearing on the matter in Toronto in two weeks. Shit. He knew little about the Canadian couple, but based upon what he was reading, they apparently weren't above a bit of angry quid pro quo. Whether what they sought would be granted by the court, he didn't know, but the first matter at hand was getting around having either Justin or Brian physically appear. Facing either of those women, or facing a trip out of the country was the last thing Brian Kinney needed right now.

Shit.

He pressed a button on the intercom. "Sarah, get me someone who knows Canadian law."

"Right away, Mr. Orwin. And there is a Justin Taylor holding for you on line two."

Shit. Shit.

*******

Brian stood by the large loft window, his now ever present bottle of water in one hand and a crumpled court document in the other. He wondered, for perhaps the hundredth time lately, what exactly his past life incarnation had done to be thrust into this existence. Alice and Justin had gone to exaggerated lengths both in and out of therapy, to reassure Brian that all of the things that had happened to him in this life were just that - things that had happened. Heinous and horrible as his life may have been for the most part, he was slowly trying to accept the complex concept of the vagaries of fate. But when his mind ran through images of his son, all wide eyed and fresh and clean and innocent, wrapped in a soft blue blanket or forming a ball of Pla-Dough with pudgy and clumsy fingers, all laughing eyes and frozen small lips circling a blueberry sno-cone, he knew there was at least one good thing he had consciously chosen to do in this life. He had a son. And he loved him unconditionally.

He straightened out the crushed paper in his hand and again focused on one of the two names bolded on the official document. It may have been some kind of tenuous turn of fate that had introduced the woman into his life in the first place, but the bond that had developed between Brian and Lindsey through the years had been, he thought, unshakable. She would, he had known from the beginning of their relationship, always be there for him, always understand him, always be firmly on his side. Having that belief stripped away from him was as agonizing to his mind as rape had been to his child-body. But realizing that this woman he had trusted so deeply was capable of ripping his son from him in every way possible was threatening to crush him. Again.

God he needed to talk with Alice.

Somewhere behind him in the open expanse of the loft he heard the soft but obviously angry voice of his partner. I don't care what you have to do. There's no way Brian can go to Canada for that hearing... He's too important to me to take that chance... Just make it happen, Charles. Justin, Brian thought, had been through more than any lover - any partner - should ever have had to go through. And the only thing now, the only damned thing in Brian's life now that he was sure of was Justin.

Brian took a deep, cleansing breath and whispered inwardly, "Brothers, we have to take care of him."

He's part of us all now, Brother. We understand.   

*******

Connie Simpson stood, soberly taking in the now familiar process of the intake procedure at the Pittsburgh police station. He had been in here before and, at least on the surface, this time seemed pretty much be the same. Goddamned Kinney! Everything... every goddamned negative thing that had happened in Connie's life he could trace back to Brian fucking Kinney. But that fucking little bitch slipped through every damned crack he could find, and Connie was caught in the middle. Again.

The officer who had arrested him on Tremont had not been gentle. Connie's head sported the evidence of a rough entry into the back seat of the unmarked police sedan, and he had the crushing headache to go with it. He was again being fingerprinted, searched and left with no personal possessions. He was again being walked toward a holding cell. He was again allowed that one phone call. And he was sure he was again going to be posting bail. He would be out within a day. As the door clanged shut behind him he smirked and he knew he just had to be patient. It's just more waiting.  

"Kinney will pay for this, the little bitch," he thought to himself.

"What's he going to pay for?"

Connie looked at the two other men in the holding cell with him. They were... large. Both of them were muscled and leather clad - or rather what clothes they actually had on were leather. "Excuse me?" Connie questioned.

"You said ‘Kinney will pay for this', then you called him a little bitch," the deep, rough voice of one of the men clarified. Connie hadn't realized until then that his words were spoken aloud.

"I'm afraid that's none of your business." The dismissive tone in the words was evident to all as Connie walked toward an empty bench along the far wall and sat down, leaning back against the paint chipped wall.

The two tall friends of Brian Kinney sat down on either side of the well dressed man. Adrenaline began seeping into Connie's system as one of the men cupped his face with a large, calloused hand. "Aw, don't be like that, sweetness. You're all Clay and I have for entertainment at the moment," the man drawled as the other man chuckled lightly. "Now, tell us what the Big Bad has done to rain on your sunshiny day."

In the background, outside the walls of the holding cell, Connie could have sworn he heard a loud guffaw. He had no idea just how well respected Carl Horvath was at this particular precinct. Nor did he know just how creative the friends of Brian Kinney could be.

*******

Samantha Simpson sat behind the great oak desk, the same one her grandfather had sat behind as he forged the name of Simpson into something respected in Chicago. She listened to the cold recitation from the company lawyer standing before her, and not for the first time in her thirty-five years she was ashamed of her name. No, not ashamed of her name, exactly, just ashamed of the man who had bestowed it upon her.

"Do I post the bail?" The tall figure put one more note in front of the newly placed CEO of Simpson Steel and waited for her answer.

"No," came the sharp reply.

"No?"

"I am not going to use company funds on this. Let him figure it out some other way." Sam appeared to rifle aimlessly through a file before her as the lawyer waited, not knowing whether or not he was dismissed.

"Is there anything else, Sam?"

"Yes, actually. Terminate him. Find some way and get him off the company rolls. He has embarrassed this company, and me personally, for the last time. Make sure you have him locked out of the computer system and freeze any financial resources he may have access to through Simpson Steel." She looked up at the man. "That's all, Tom."

"Will do, Sam." He hesitated and then asked, "Are you sure about this, Sammy? He is your father."

"Yeah, well, he may be my bio, but I'm done with him, babe. Let's just say we won't be buying him a tie for Father's Day next year." She stood up and kissed the man gently on the lips. "I have to get ready for a meeting. See you later at home?"

*******

Cynthia answered the phone on the third ring without looking at the caller ID.

"Cynthia Moore."

"Cyn, Kaz here. I...have some information you should be interested in." The hesitation in his voice immediately put her on alert, her anxious thoughts going immediately to Brian's safety.

"How bad?"

"Depends on how you define ‘bad'. Simpson's in the hospital," he stated matter-of-factly.

"Shit! What happened?" Cynthia couldn't help the small grin that graced her face at the revelation. She didn't even try to keep the smug glee from her voice. Kaz understood.

"Officially? He sustained a severe head injury when he tripped and fell in a holding cell after he was arrested for breaking the terms of his bail. He's in a coma at the moment."

"And unofficially?"

"Let's just say his cellmates seemed to have some very fond memories of a particular night with one Brian Kinney."

Cynthia's laugh filled the otherwise silent room.

*******

"From what you are telling me the motion will most likely be denied, but if Brian and Justin don't appear... they could lose by default." The two attorneys toyed with the food on their plates. Sarah had lived up to her usual efficiency and had quickly found an attorney licensed to practice in both the U.S. and Canada. Charles had filled the young man in as they lingered over spicy shrimp and curried meatballs in the small Pacific rim restaurant.

"Do they have to appear in person?" Charles knew there was simply no way either man could risk the trip to Canada or the strain it would place on Brian's recovery.

"That would be optimal, but the Crown should be lenient given your client's medical situation. Just as here in the states, Canada recognizes that there are times when legal representation must suffice. But they will need to respond in some way or they will lose by default."

"And that would essentially be the nail in the coffin for Brian's hopes to see his son again." Charles sighed and pushed away the plate in front of him. "I've known Brian Kinney for years, Adam. He's always been ridiculously and blatantly unapologetic for his lifestyle and his actions. A lot of people resent that arrogant out, proud and loud aspect of the man. But he loves his son unconditionally, so much that he gave up his rights as a father because he thought that was best for the child in the long run. His concern for the boy and his complete trust of the mother, Lindsey, caused Brian to make one of the few big mistakes I've ever known him to make. He got nothing in writing allowing him access to his son."

"Yeah, funny things love and trust make us do, eh?" They'd all been there, Adam knew, in one way or another.

"Yeah. And they most often come back to bite us squarely in the ass. But... this is worse than any broken heart, my friend. The peace bond works like a restraining order, right? He would be restrained from seeing the child, from even talking to him on the phone... Can't let that happen."

Adam nodded. He didn't know Kinney and had never even met the man. But the horrific story related by his colleague wasn't easily dismissed. He could only imagine what a blow like this could do to someone fighting for their literal life.

"Charles, how about I make a little jaunt to Toronto, get reacquainted with the legal system there. Say, in a couple of weeks?"

"All expenses well paid, of course," came the pleased reply.